


Flat tire and a car on fire

by modillian



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Post Season 2, Sex, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-07
Updated: 2007-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-31 12:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modillian/pseuds/modillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're in California. Don't ask. The details don't matter. It's just a little turn in the hell that's been going down in their part of the world lately. At least there's ice cream. And a beach.<br/>[A hazy, dreamlike interlude, a pause from hunting, in a washed-out seaside town at the end of summer.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flat tire and a car on fire

**Author's Note:**

> To scary_lullabies. Happy belated 22nd birthday, lovely. You've been a wonderful friend to me. ♥ I hope you like this little something.

 

 

They're in California.

Don't ask. The details don't matter. It's just a little turn in the hell that's been going down in their part of the world lately.

At least there's ice cream. And a beach.

Dean liked to sit on the beach. Sprawled out on a towel, sea spray tickling his knees and shins. He's sunburned on his nose and shoulders. Sam teased about the new freckles, but Sam can go to hell if he thinks...the scorches on his arms stung from the salt and sand, but that's good; the sea is good for small stuff like that, Dad said.

Sammy's been different since they killed the Demon. They're hunting, _they are_ , but this is just a pause. A short one. Nowhere to go, right now.

***

They rolled into the little beach town around two thirty in the afternoon. Nice day, monotonous blue sky and fucking brown-yellow dirt everywhere in California. He hated it. Don't ask why the midwestern blue and yellow is better, it just is. They were heading up from Mexico ( _I'll give you something to revolt about_ , Dean'd said to the _criollo_ ghouls, with his shotgun. Sam hadn't said anything.)

It was a little nothing of a place. The wind blew flat and low, palms and [jacarandas](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Jacaranda.JPG) bending listlessly. Sun was harsh enough to crack his baby's paint. Sam wanted to stop. Dean told him to shut his face.

_C'mon, it's a nice place, right?_

_Naw, Sam. Hunting, remember?_

_No dice, Dean. Nothing's coming up out here, not with the storms passing through._

_Kidding me, right? Spirits live on mayhem and destruction. You saying big storms aren't crazy enough?_

_Does it look like mayhem here?_ Sam'd asked. The sky was the same boring blue it'd been for a hundred miles inside the state.

_Place is washed out_ , Sam said.

They stopped at the town.

***

Dean wasn't bored after they stopped. Dean was rarely bored. Not with such prime entertainment, anyways. Sam kept dropping ice cream cones.

Sam was all, _It's not my fault they keep building the cones wrong!_ when Dean roared laughing the fourth time. His chocolate chip vanilla was in the sand. He made Sammy go back for another cone.

***

Sam liked to visit the town's little shops ( _Be happy they aren't Shoppes, Dean_ ), bicycle stands and shanties near the beach. Their motel was less a greasy shack and more of a run-down bungalow from the seventies. But there was still a little of the greasy shack in it.

_Is the floor rotting out on the porch? I think I can see a hornet's nest._

_Watch your step, Sammy._

Sam hid Dean's boots in the sand the next day.

***

At three o'clock on the day they arrived, they idled around the town. Searching out anything needing notice. A short dude with a barrel chest and duck feet wanted to sell them coconut milk. His elderly neighbor waved some palm frond placemats at them. Passing the leisurely market at three-thirty, Sam swore he smelled something. _Well Sam, anytime you feel like doing laundry, hop to it, I got no complaints._

_Shut up, can't you smell that? Go west a little more._

They passed Eddie's Fast-Fix Auto, a Dairy Queen, and a winding little road leading out of the town -the main road leading north. Dean drove and drove and felt his eyebrows rising.

_Sam, there's no more west here. West will get us into the ocean. My baby doesn't need a cold water wash just yet._

A car was on fire. Flaming. Middle of the road.

Sam yelled and Dean slammed the brakes ten feet away from the wreck. The wind, unhelpful, changed direction to blow smoke in their faces. Dean could smell the burned rubber now.

_There's no one there_ , Sam said. They checked the car, what they could, burning down after a while. There was no one around, it was the middle of a deserted road exiting a freaking beach town.

_This is fucking weird, Dean._

_No shit? I hadn't realized._ The wind blew up, swept some debris from the car, catching on Dean's forearms.

Sam flipped out, shoved Dean away from the wreck, got them behind the Impala.

_I'm fine Sam, alright?_ Dean patted his arms down. It smarted, but not all that much. A few burns wasn't much at all.

***

The thing was, they couldn't find anything supernatural. The whole time they stayed in the town, zip, nadda. They talked to the police, the firemen, the vendors at the market. They talked to Eddie at Eddie's Auto. He raised his eyebrows and sent a tow truck after the firemen. _Weird things happen every day, boys._

Sam did his geek thing at the library. There were no angry past citizens, strange occurrences, or even Indian burial grounds until a good hundred miles away. Dean found an ice cream place crouched on the beach, got cups, did not drop them when handing one off to Sam, and drove further up the north road to search anything unusual by eye.

Sam found the dilapidated bungalows for vacationers. _Martin told me about them._

_Who's Martin?_

_Guy selling the placemats._

***

Sam had an accident with the shirts in his bag. Apparently someone thought dumping coconut milk in Sam's bag was a good idea. Dean had no idea how it happened. Dean's clean shirts may have accidentally gotten milked as well.

Then he saw the replacement shirts Sam got at the vendors down the way. _I am not wearing that_ , Dean said very firmly. He was a man, dammit.

_You should. You burn easier than me._

_Whatever you say, cabana boy. Did Martin have yellow palm trees on his shorts too?_

_No, Steve did. Put on a shirt. You will get skin cancer._

Dean didn't say anything. He soaked in the sun, enjoyed the fuzzy sting in his arms, the film of salt and sand on his chest. He had red skin the next morning, but it was worth it. Sam bought him sandals and threw them in Dean's bed. Dean wore those. His boots were still gritty since he'd found them mysteriously buried next the beach bungalow's dead orange tree. Fucking California.

***

Dean laid back on the towel, peeled off some flaking skin on his forearm. The burns were superficial to begin with, a few days spent napping under the boringly blue sky made them itch like crazy.

Sam was wading, wading in the ocean like he was five years old again and afraid of the tide. Maybe Sam was afraid of getting his hair wet, who knew. Dean liked to swim in between the deeper sandbars and then dry off, feel the lines of water drop off and wind-blown scuff form patterns on his skin.

He was awake, really, okay maybe he'd closed his eyes for a minute, and Sam dropping down like an earthquake really wasn't cool of him anyway, but Dean jostled on the towel and grumbled.

_Did you get more ice cream?_

_Fuck you._

_Well then why don't you get some? I am the wounded party here._ Dean cracked open one eye.

Sam sat turned away from him, bending over thighs, long expanse of back with water trickling off. He could see the faded scar blemished underneath Sammy's shoulder, the one still frighteningly stark on the base of his spine. Small, strong knobs of bone curving up.

Dean didn't even know he'd moved. Long skim of his hands up Sammy's spine, one staying on a shoulder. One hand brushing back down, circling. Sammy stilled.

Dean crouched on his knees, rubbing along Sam shoulder, a little down his side. He could feel Sam breathing. He could hear the whoosh of the waves, some trees kilting up in the breeze. Sam made a noise.

Dean stopped. He wasn't alarmed, but. Just a pause.

_Keep going_ , Sam said. He edged back, slid his sandy hands onto Dean's knees.

Dean bent over Sam's shoulder and bit him hard, on the curve of his bicep.

***

Sam was whining, making these incredible noises as Dean tasted his skin. It wasn't nearly enough; Dean didn't know if this idea had ever lodged in his brain before, but deep in his gut, burning and stable -wanting to get to Sam, to find where he lived, that was not a new feeling all. Dean shouldered Sam's legs further apart, sucked Sam a little deeper, and Sam _moaned_ loud and long.

Beads of precome ran out of his mouth, and that wasn't...Dean took Sam down again, growled, rubbed his nose along his soft belly. He was incredibly aware of his own protesting cock, wanting, wanting so much. He came back up, glanced to Sam flat on his back grasping Dean's shoulders, reddened all along his chest and shoulders with bite marks. Dean's dick jerked.

Sam's head lolled forward, their eyes catching, and Sam fucking _beautifully_ lost it -back arched, choking, hauling Dean up to mash them together. Sam held fast, still gasping, and Dean took advantage to rub himself up on Sam's wet belly until he couldn't stand it anymore.

When Dean's head cleared, Sam was watching him. He looked concerned, and something else.

Dean didn't get to see any more. Sam pulled him up by the hand, and Dean followed him to the bungalow.

***

_We're not done here, Dean._

_I know._

_No, I don't think you do. You are not fucking done here._

_Well then get your ass over here._

_Dean. You are not fucking done here. I'm not going to let you be._

_...I know Sam, okay? I know. Okay?_

_...okay._

_Alright. Come here, Sammy._

***

Sam was a fucking sexass kisser. Dean wondered why he hadn't known it before.

Sam sucked all along his bottom lip, and Dean opened to let him in, _please_ already. He tested all along his palate, nuzzled along, and Dean reached up, hung on to the headboard. He could feel Sam's hands all over, torso between his thighs, and that was...not, not nearly enough. He lunged up into the kiss, wiggled down Sam's thighs, and Sam huffed a laugh.

_What? Not funny dude._

_No_ , Sam agreed. He crinkled all up into a smiled that flew right to Dean belly, made his joints lax. Dean slid a little down the pillows, hands loosening on the headboard panels. Sam lifted a hand away of Dean's sides and pressed over their cocks.

Dean reached right back to the paneling. _Fuck._

_Yes, Dean._ Dean could feel his fucking smile right at his neck, Sammy taking his time. Breath still harsh, Dean rolled his eyes and rubbed right up along Sam, making him feel the length of Dean's thighs, his chest. Sam gulped. _S'okay, you're alright_ , Dean said, got an elbow down and ran fingers over Sam's shoulders, nape, along the marks he left.

Sam kissed his neck, and then yes, holy shit, _holy shit_ , Sam's huge fucking hands. All over the both of them. Dean levered himself up and moved with him, sweatstickypulsing beat. Brushed fingers over Sam's back, got a few more marks in before he completely left his head and floated at the ceiling.

He came back in time to feel Sam slump over him, heavy, feel the slick smush of them together. He felt...light. He felt finished.

Finished with something other than the obvious. His dick was sore. So was his neck. _Did you fucking bite me?_

Shut up. Sam was muffled in Dean's skin. Dean pulled Sam's hair. Sam backed away and mouthed very, very slowly over Dean's collarbone, licking up the wet already there.

Dean put both hands back on the headboard.

***

They passed out of town the next day. A real wind had picked up, sand like glass flying everywhere on the beach. The huddle of shops closed up and the town shuttered itself for autumn.

Nothing of the burned car lingered on the road north. Ahead, storm clouds rose on the horizon and plumed grey against the blue, blue sky.


End file.
